bytebroiledhttps://kbiggs.org/2018-12-05T23:00:00-08:00Post-AT Thoughts2018-12-05T23:00:00-08:002018-12-05T23:00:00-08:00jacktag:kbiggs.org,2018-12-05:/post-at-thoughts.html<p>thoughts about the AT post-hike.</p><blockquote>
<p>“To the untrained eye, ego-climbing and selfless climbing may appear identical.
Both kinds of climbers place one foot in front of the other. Both breathe
in and out at the same rate. Both stop when tired. Both go forward when
rested. But what a difference! The ego-climber is like an instrument that’s
out of adjustment. He puts his foot down an instant too soon or too late.
He’s likely to miss a beautiful passage of sunlight through the trees.
He goes on when the sloppiness of his step shows he’s tired. He rests at
odd times. He looks up the trail trying to see what’s ahead even when he
knows what’s ahead because he just looked a second before. He goes too
fast or too slow for the conditions and when he talks his talk is forever
about somewhere else, something else. He’s here but he’s not here. He rejects
the here, he’s unhappy with it, wants to be farther up the trail but when
he gets there will be just as unhappy because then <em>it</em> will be “here”.
What he’s looking for, what he wants, is all around him, but he doesn’t
want that because it <em>is</em> all around him. Every step’s an effort, both
physically and spiritually, because he imagines his goal to be external
and distant.”</p>
<p>&mdash; Robert Pirsig, <em>Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p>While it wasn't sunshine and rainbows all the way to Maine, my hike on the
Applachian Trail has without a doubt had a positive impact on my life. Now that
the dust has settled somewhat in the two months since my finishing, I thought it
would be a good idea to go over my post-trail thoughts.</p>
<p>So far since coming back, nearly every friend I've run into has asked me what
experiences meant the most to me, what life lessons I learned out there, or how
the trail has changed me as a person. Initially I responded by saying that the
trail was a fantastic adventure, but I quickly became frustrated by the fact
that I rarely had a good answer for them. In fact, barring some knee
pain, an enormous beard, and a ravenous appetite that didn't diminish for weeks,
I still felt like the same person. Panic soon ensued. Had I just wasted six
entire months doing nothing but bumming around in the woods?</p>
<p>Well, yes, but that's not really the point. The point was that people seemed to
expect something to show for all that time spent walking, panting, sweating,
pooping in holes, and sleeping outside. Admittedly, when I talk about "people,"
I'm mostly talking about myself. Hearing other people ask me these questions
only made me turn further inward looking for an answer. But maybe this lack of
a clear lesson was a lesson in and of itself: the people who hike the trail
(or pursue any endeavor perceived to be huge or daunting) shouldn't focus on
what they get out of it once they're done. The AT is a trek that can be as
unfathomably long as it can be mind-numbingly tedious. Even though it's easy (and
tempting) to think about the last mountain every single day, that end will
remain out of sight and feel impossibly distant up until the last hundred miles.
Agonizing like that, day after day, across 14 states on foot isn't a hike
so much as a really shitty way of traveling 2,200 miles. Or going nuts.</p>
<p>Instead of focussing on how I've changed, I think it makes more sense to reflect
on the experiences I've had out there that have broadened my perspective. I
slept outside more times than I can count, gotten a hitch out of Poplar Hill,
Virginia from a 400-pound lumberjack nicknamed "Booger;" stayed with a cult in
Rutland, Vermont; helped build bunks at a hostel in Roan Mountain, TN; hiked
through the White Mountains with my brother; forded rivers in Maine; and
accepted many random acts of kindness with much thanks from total strangers
(as well as amazing friends) all across the east coast. If you were one of these
people, you're awesome, and my hike wouldn't have been the same without you.
These encounters mean far more to me than any lesson I could have learned.</p>
<p>That said, I have felt a lot more patient lately. Before my hike, driving behind
somebody going five below the speed limit would have given me hives. Now, I
sometimes catch myself doing the same thing, and feign indignation when angry
commuters lean on their horns and pass me. Waiting for a bus, a delivery, or a
friend's arrival doesn't bother me nearly as much as it used to. Something
from past experience tells me that as long as something is willingly determined
to make it to its destination, it'll get there one way or another.</p>first post2018-12-05T00:03:00-08:002010-12-05T00:03:00-08:00jacktag:kbiggs.org,2018-12-05:/first-post.html<p>the very first, bitches</p><p>first.</p>
<p>I was here first. This is the first one. The firstest of the first.
Nobody, believe me, nobody does first like me. I have the greatest
firsts, all my friends, they say it's great, my firsts, even when
they're actually seconds, but we all know they're not seconds. They're
firsts. And I think everyone will love it.</p>